


Raised by Fax Machines (or: The Saga of Benvolio’s Thirst)

by privatesnarker



Category: Rómeó és Júlia (Színház)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Art, Digital Art, Gangs, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, Inspired by Art, M/M, Prompt Fill, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-10-26 11:48:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17745365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/privatesnarker/pseuds/privatesnarker
Summary: For an art prompt byCarmarthenof RésJ characters of my choice+dystopian space AU. I went for Benvolio and a young not-yet-Prince Escalus, drew the art and then proceeded to write 7k+ of not-fict to go with it, as you do. This is the cleaned-up and beta-d version of that not-fict.





	Raised by Fax Machines (or: The Saga of Benvolio’s Thirst)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Carmarthen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carmarthen/gifts).



> This fict would not exist on Ao3 without the alpha and beta reading + relentless cheerleading and positivity provided by [madame le maire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/madame_le_maire/pseuds/madame_le_maire), the true MVP. Thank you!

It's one of Mercutio's many talents that he always brings the weirdest people to the Montague gang's hangouts, people who nobody else would have thought to invite. Where he even finds them, who fucking knows; maybe his own brand of weird just attracts them. But whatever else they might be, they're always entertaining. He's also never brought a Capulet snitch either, the dude's nose for affiliation is honestly uncanny. Maybe that's the agent training he never wants to talk about showing: they all know he used to be eligible for the throne and now isn't, probably, who knows. They don't care about politics down here, only about doing whatever the fuck they want, and fuck anyone who tries to get in between the gang and their fun. Mercutio's stellar reputation is the only reason there isn't a riot when what he brings in one evening is a bona fucking fide district agent, ugly snot-colored suit and all. The room just goes very very silent, and Benvolio sees Rat and Lorenzo step in front of either exit. Mercutio acts like he didn't see that, and explains that he brought his cousin, who’s a good kid but so shy! Nobody laughs, but there’s no way not to listen to Mercutio when he’s going full throttle on the absurd, insisting that his cousin is just so terribly lonely, and also has no idea what a party is, and to please be nice to the poor soul, and Mercutio promises he can actually smile. Meanwhile the dude next to him is still looking ashy-faced and expressionless. But he doesn’t seem to be armed, and while their trust in Mercutio is strong, their curiosity is even stronger. It helps that Mercutio announces their guest is buying everyone a round. There's no point in running away when tonight’s menu seems to include entertainment AND booze. Nobody welcomes the agent, or cousin, or whatever the fuck he is; but the volume gradually goes back up to almost the usual level as the crowd draws closer, watchful, like a feral dog hoping for a treat. Mercutio leans in to say something close to the guy's ear, and while it doesn't exactly prompt a smile, there is suddenly a wry sort of amused expression on his face, and the whole room seems to relax a little. Alright. No agent ever looks like that. He can stay... for now.

Benvolio is the first to spot that while the suit is hideous, the dude underneath isn't all that ugly to look at. Well, hard to tell while he's still wearing all that stuff, but there's hope. Those cheekbones are nothing to frown at, for starters. Benvolio likes to think of himself as a friendly guy, always welcoming towards interesting strangers. He decides to saunter over, say thank you for the drink like a good boy, and see if he can coax some display of emotion out of that particular specimen. 

Fifteen minutes later, Mercutio's agent cousin has gotten a little color in his face, whether from heat or drink or charming company, who knows; it proves he has blood and might even be human! Kinky! But all the disrobing that's happened is a loosened tie and one (1) opened shirt button, and the only emotion Benvolio has coaxed into display is a sort of low-key amusement. Quite possibly at his expense, which is rich coming from someone looking like he has no discernible personality at all. The slicked-back hair is tragic, and Benvolio's fingers are itching to mess it up and see what happens.

"If you're new to the neighborhood, I can show you around some time," he says instead, winningly. He can be very winning, charming even. "I know all the secret corners." And flirty too, dammit. Definitely flirty enough to warrant a reaction, any reaction at all.

"I'm always interested in secrets," Mercutio's cousin —what was his name again? If Mercutio said, Benvolio has forgotten immediately— says evenly, dry as dust. He doesn't talk much, it seems, and the talk he's talked so far has sounded... old, and like an automated phone response program. An elderly robot butler maybe. But at least he hasn't said any of the things agents tend to say in Benvolio's experience: 'Halt!' or 'You are being recorded for your protection, state your name and parentage' or 'Illegal trespassing detected, official warning to not resis— argh!', so that's something.

"I'm not here on business though," Whatshisname adds, inspecting his shot glass like he's never seen such a wondrous thing before, "Mercutio is of the opinion I need to be exposed to a concept he calls 'fun'." He does in fact not look at Benvolio at all; whenever he looks up, it's to a point very slightly next to his face. Also, Benvolio has no idea if he's being ironic.

"You came to the right guy then," he says breezily, ignoring the exact semantics of who came to whom, "Mercutio maybe didn't tell you, but I'm, like, the expert on fun."

"Oh, he did mention." And oh, oh, is that a smile? Directed at the shot glass, but still, that makes two whole expressions! "I believe the word he used was 'clown'."

Benvolio can't even be mad, he walked right into that one. Also, that is a grin, and not a mean one either. Three expressions and a sense of humor!

"I do a bit of everything actually, clowning, dancing, you name it... hey, what's that behind your ear?" As he reaches out, Whatshisname's eyes dart to his hand, and even in the low light Benvolio thinks he catches a metallic glint. Huh. That explains the lack of eye contact. Dude doesn’t lift a finger to stop him though. "Well what do you know, looks like I found a cigarette. You smoke?" Benvolio bats his eyelashes, and Mercutio's cousin of the uncertain name actually laughs, a laugh that sounds like he's surprised by it himself. It makes him look about seventy-three years younger, maybe even like whatever age he is, and Benvolio has to make some lightning-fast mental calculations. How big are the chances this guy has microcams in either or both his eyes? Something like ninety-nine percent. Point nine. What is the amount of shits Benvolio gives about being recorded doing anything the farts at the palace might consider blackmailing material? Fast approaching zero. Actually, if this cousin really is as high up the ladder as reading between the lines of Mercutio's comments about his family makes it sound, he probably even has access to his own recordings, and hey, talk about motivation...

"I don't smoke," Whatshisname says, "but I'm amenable to watching." Like that's not a weird fucking thing to say. In this context, at least.

"Cool," Benvolio says, and heads towards the back exit. He'll give the guy something to watch, that's for sure. He's never thought of recording himself for some reason (even though stealing and rewiring a security camera ought to be almost as easy as vandalizing one), but the idea of being recorded through someone else's eyes is, well. Appealing to the ego.

"Hey, where are you going? That's not safe." Benvolio's not sure he heard that right, but Whatshisface is still standing at the bar, and now he's frowning a little (four! or was that expression number five? He's lost count).

"What, are you scared of me?" He opens his arms and cocks his hip. "You wanna search me for weapons first?"

"No." Does put-upon patience count as an emotion? It counts as annoying. "You've known me less than an hour. Didn't anyone ever tell you not to be alone with strangers?"

Ugh. Fine. The things Benvolio puts up with for the sake of adventure, honestly. He sits back down.

"So if an hour isn't long enough, how long until you're not a dangerous stranger anymore?"

"I'll let you know."

Man, Benvolio really needs that smoke now. Even if he has to have it by the front door.

xxx

Mercutio's cousin leaves with his virtue intact that night, and Benvolio is mostly convinced they'll never see him back again. But back again he comes, and keeps coming. For a few hours, an evening here and there, a whole day sometimes; but never over night. There’s never anyone from the government district with him or tailing him, as far as they can make out; there’s no suspicious uptick in arrests or razzias, and their trade routes don’t dry up mysteriously either. So yeah, whatever, he can stay.

He's named Leo, as it turns out. Not that Mercutio tells him as much when Benvolio asks, because that would require him to be helpful for once in his goddamn life. Instead he tells him to ask the guy himself, like it's some sort of deeply embarrassing secret (only if it were, Mercutio would delight in telling it to all and sundry). So Benvolio asks— which isn’t awkward AT ALL, thanks Mercutio!— and then gets to watch Mercutio’s cousin visibly deliberate for a second, like it really is top secret information, or like he’s having trouble remembering his own name or something. Mind you, Benvolio's not entirely sure ‘Leo’ really is his name, because the first couple times someone calls him that the dude doesn't even react. Whatever, most of the gang prefer to be called things their parents didn't name them, if he wants to be Leo that's cool.

The awful suit is a no-go when hanging out about town, so they collect some gently used stuff for him to wear. Nothing fancy, just some pants and a shirt and a jacket and some shoes. They're less bulky than the suit, and Benvolio is gratified to find his suspicion of broad shoulders and long legs confirmed. See, he knew the guy would look better without the hideous getup. Add some eyeliner (helpfully applied by Benvolio, who thus finds out Leo's eyes are dark blue and faintly unnerving, even if he mostly still avoids eye contact) and some tousling of hair (Mercutio takes over that one without asking, damn him), and he looks just like one of the gang, if a bit less colorful and eye-catching. He feels like one of the gang too, fitting in seamlessly— Benvolio is a group-oriented person, a family man if you will, and he expected some kind of hitch or shift in the energy with a new guy around, but nah. There’s a ripple, and then it’s like a raindrop swallowed up by a puddle. After a while he decides it's because Leo acts like he belongs, like there's nowhere else he ought to be. Is this the same con Mercutio pulled, when he turned up out of the blue and dazzled them all with his entertaining ideas, until they couldn't imagine daily life without him anymore? Or maybe they really do belong here, the both of them.

It's only when moving past the visuals that Leo still acts like he was raised by fax machines, but he's getting better; if he was too charming, if he somehow got on smoothly with everybody and agreed with everything, they probably wouldn’t trust him as quickly as they do. As it turns out, initial assumptions (fueled by Mercutio) about him maybe being shy or insecure seem to have been mostly wrong. Dude not only acts like he's right where he ought to be, doing exactly what he ought to be doing, he'll also get mad as hell if he sees someone acting shitty, and if he’s mad he’ll let you know about it in loud detail. He has opinions, is the thing, about shitty behavior and otherwise, and while he generally will not go around airing them willy-nilly, he absolutely will air them when prompted, and Benvolio delights in the prompting. Some of the opinions are weird as all get-out, but all in all they're opinions Benvolio can agree with or at least isn't offended by, which is SO BIZARRE coming from a dude who first rolled up in an agent uniform. Then again, he probably wasn't born in that uniform either, and Mercutio is the least agent-like person imaginable, so who knows... that line of thinking feels bad though, like a cold winter street at night, so Benvolio listens to his gut and doesn't go there. All that matters is the Leo who’s here now, and he's plenty interesting, enough to take up every second of Benvolio's undivided attention when he's there.

The weirdest thing, the one that takes Benvolio weeks to spot because it's so obvious he can't see the town for the speaker poles, is that for all his opinions Leo apparently doesn't do initiative. Like, at all. He'll turn up, talk to people who talk to him first, answer questions when asked, and go along with whatever it is they're doing that day, but he will never make any kind of suggestion at all. Benvolio's a guy who mostly follows along where others lead, he gets it, and at first he thinks maybe Leo is still finding his feet? Like, working out his position, assessing the hierarchy of the group, building up his confidence to say something? But no, it's pathological, and the crowning cherry of weirdness is that when Leo doesn't have anything to do, he will just— not do anything. He'll stand or sit and just blankly look off into space like someone put him on standby, until there's something to do again. Benvolio's never seen anyone else act like that, and it's making his skin crawl.

That isn't to say Leo will just do anything anyone asks of him– Benvolio tried, and found that the answers 'No' and 'Piss off' were in fact in Leo’s arsenal. So apparently the only options are either doing or not doing a thing someone else came up with, not... fucking, Benvolio doesn't know, just doing things, just like that. He's come a long way very fast what with making facial expressions and occasional eye contact and talking like a normal human being (well, some of the time at least). But that thing about not just doing things, that's probably another agent thing, and a way more fucked-up one than the rest. Was Mercutio ever like that? Probably not. That's the wrong sort of question to ponder again though, the sort that will ruin a good day. Benvolio decides to not compare Leo to Mercutio anymore.

xxx

"Fuck."

When Benvolio turns around, Leo is inspecting the torn sleeve of his jacket. Must've ripped it on the barbed wire on top of the fence they crossed to get from one quarter to the other and meet up with the rest of the gang. That's not why Benvolio feels like he should be gasping and dramatically clutching his chest like some shocked spinster. It's because he's pretty sure that was the first time he heard Leo swear, ever. And yeah, the whole gang swears like sailors, and hearing the word 'fuck' is as common to Benvolio as hearing 'the' or 'and', but not from _Leo_.

"What?" the culprit says, like he didn't just evolve into a different person right there in the middle of the street. Not even anything so fancy as a person really, just any old ordinary guy. Almost normal, definitely real.

"You should swear more," Benvolio informs him, "it's sexy."

"Yeah?" Leo steps closer, and Benvolio has stopped counting expressions, but that roguish grin is a new one, "You fucking think so?" That doesn't even make sense, but he's said it without the slightest hitch on the word, and it's the sheer confidence that makes it. Benvolio has never had a particular thing for dirty talk, but maybe that's because nobody ever thought to do it in that disaffected, almost bored tone of voice, like he's talking about, fucking whatever, the weather.

"Yeah," he says, and doesn't step away. Leo is looking right at him, and he really does have very striking eyes. There's something like the taste of things almost real, almost there, hanging in the air between them, as they stand just a little too close.

"Alright," Leo says, turns around and keeps walking.

What the fuck.

xxx

So yeah, good news: Leo wasn't joking about letting Benvolio know about hanging out alone, and after a couple weeks he deems them sufficiently safe and, like, established or whatever for one-on-one time. Benvolio is feeling smug, especially because he seems to be the only one out of the gang to get exclusive access to Leo's precious city time.

Speaking of which, Benvolio actually does end up giving Leo a tour of the city, as promised. Several tours even, because there's so many places in different parts of it that Benvolio wants to share. Even ones he never showed to anyone, because what’s the point of discovering a secret hangout spot guaranteed to have you be left alone, and then telling everyone about it? Leo seems interested in them all, secret or not, and has no qualms climbing fences, walking across roofs or wading through trash to get there. He never asks any uncomfortable questions either, just takes in whatever information Benvolio has to give as solemnly as if it was important historical knowledge.

Bad news: Alone time does not translate to banging. Sadface. Not like hanging out clothed is bad or anything, just... Benvolio thinks he has made it abundantly clear that if Leo were to say the word, he could have Benvolio naked and any way he wanted in about three seconds flat (alright, he hasn't said those actual words, but he's not exactly been playing hard to get. In Benvolio’s experience, caring about dignity and pride tends to get in the way of having fun). And if the problem were just that Leo hasn't said the word, well, then Benvolio would just have to accept that maybe Leo doesn't know what he's missing, and move on.

The thing is, that as the days stretch into weeks and the weeks into months, there's been about 826345 instances (conservative estimate) of something ALMOST happening. Like the time Benvolio told him he should swear more, or any of the times Leo asked him to do his eyeliner before he started doing his own, or the time he noticed Benvolio's tattoo, or the discussion about movies that suddenly got weird, or... There's no fucking WAY Leo isn't doing that on purpose, but what the purpose of making Benvolio all antsy and then acting like nothing happened is supposed to be, who knows. And if the incident with the tattoo wasn't enough, Leo's generally not as subtle as he probably thinks he is about where he's looking, and Benvolio _knows_ he's been looking. And he has never actually turned Benvolio down, other than in a lack of expressing enthusiasm, or of going ahead and just fucking making out with him already. Any time Benvolio brings some ridiculous cheesy come-on, Leo snorts or grins, and then he DOESN'T DO ANYTHING. Of course, Benvolio could just take this lack of protest as an invitation to get handsy, see if maybe that will finally get him a statement of any kind, but that's just... not Benvolio's style. He's more about, you know, the interplay. Cooperation. He's never had to fucking _drag_ anyone into bed, thank you very fucking much. Usually it's enough to signal interest in order to get people to communicate something to the effect of 'yes' or 'no' or even ‘maybe’. Leo is the first time where the only reaction he gets amounts to 'message received', and possibly 'please stand by'. Benvolio is starting to wonder how much standing by he is going to have to do before his message has been processed.

It gets so unbelievably frustrating that he has to actually sit down and have a think — something he usually avoids, because thinking hard requires him to stop moving around and talking to people and just generally doing his thing. 99% of the time coasting by on gut instinct serves him well enough, but this is a crisis situation. After some frowning and soul searching and feeling ridiculous (how does Romeo DO this stuff on the reg?!), he decides that he has been pretty open about what's in the cards, and if Leo decides he wants some, he can just go ahead and say so. Or do so, or whatever it takes. And in the meantime, Benvolio needs to stop obsessing and chill the fuck out. Just, maybe drop the occasional hint the offer's still on the table. Very chill-like. Yeah.

xxx

("Fucking duh he's a weirdo," Mercutio says, contemptuous of the obvious statement, "that's why I brought him over in the first place. I'll only say this once, just so you know, but I'm glad you're shagging some sense into him."

"The thing is, I'm not," Benvolio says, which is the first and last time he'll ever admit to not shagging anyone when Mercutio thinks he is, but such is the depth of his despair, "and that's why I'm asking you, because I just—" he waves his hand aimlessly—"can't get through? Or something? Why is your cousin so damn weird, dude?"

"Your belief in my omniscience is flattering, young friend," Mercutio, who is four years older than Benvolio and full of shit, intones, "but how the fuck should I know."

"Well he's _your_ family!"

Mercutio already looks bored with the conversation. "Ask him if he wants to get off with you, if he says 'Acceptable' that means 'Yes'."

"And do you know what this means?" Benvolio asks, presenting his middle finger.

"Means you're an ungrateful shit, and sorry for trying to help.")

xxx

When Benvolio sees Leo sitting by himself around the corner from where everyone else is arguing about today’s hangout itinerary, he assumes Leo is doing his usual off-switch thing, waiting for the row to clear up. Except Leo is also frowning up a storm, so Benvolio plops down next to him and asks: "So what's eating you?"

"A conundrum," Leo mumbles, even though he normally has the diction of any voice on the Good News broadcast blaring from every speaker pole on the street. Only the Good News wouldn't use weird words like that, not even they. The fuck is he even pulling that stuff from.

"I don't play myself, but I don't see what's so bad about drums." It's not _that_ bad a joke off the cuff, so the eye roll is really the very least it deserved.

"I have a question to ask." And usually he would come straight to the point instead of hedging like this, so Benvolio is immediately curious.

"Shoot," he says.

Around the corner, the voices are slowly moving away – evidently a decision was reached, and nobody seems to have remembered to look for them. Leo waits for the last of the din to fade, head tilted back like a dog trying to catch a scent, before turning to look at the wall right next to Benvolio.

"You keep insinuating that we could have sex," he says, matter-of-factly, and apparently this conversation is going to be either terrible or amazing, but definitely not boring.

"Yeah," Benvolio says as casually as possible, and resists about five nervous tics at once because he's going to be cool about this if it kills him, "what about it?"

"I can't figure out why."

"What, like an ulterior motive? Because in that case asking me kinda defeats the purpose."

"No, just any kind of motive. What's the..." and he seems to be trying on several words, but not finding the right one "...the point? The benefit? The, the—" he gestures in frustration—"the reason for doing that! There has to be a reason!"

He sounds way too mad to be fishing for compliments here, so Benvolio tries: "Uh, I guess it might be fun? Or in any case not boring. Pass the time. Not that— I mean, I also like you, obviously." Leo is still looking in his general direction like he's a complicated math problem, so Benvolio blunders on. "Uh. I don't see why not? ...Sorry man, I can't explain it any better than that. I don't really think too hard about the whys, I just do whatever seems a good idea. Haha, yeah, thinking hard, always a bit of a challenge..." he trails off. Declaration of sexual interest: How probably not to go about it.

Leo doesn't answer, and Benvolio isn't even sure he heard that last bit (small mercies): he's doing one of his weird agent things, the one where his eyes are moving like he's literally reading his own thoughts like a book. Every other person Benvolio has ever met just _does_ things, Leo is the only one who apparently has to consult his own instruction manual first. It's kind of entertaining to watch though, especially because now he's making a face like he just reached a passage that's underlined and in all caps.

"A loophole," he says dreamily, and whoever the hell he's talking to, it sure isn't Benvolio, "Yes. The need of the many overrides the word, but the word is the law and the word I wait for—" he tenses, like he might be about to jump up or get kicked in the face—"On this mission the word is mine." He looks up, directly at Benvolio, and there's something almost crazy flickering in his eyes. "I have the word!"

"...Sure," Benvolio says, with no idea what this is about but unable to break eye contact.

"I," Leo says calmly, never looking away, "can do what I say."

"Yeah," Benvolio says, and is surprised he manages even that. There's intent written into every line of Leo's face, and given the subject they've just been talking about, Benvolio is pretty sure that this, the 826346th instance, is where they're finally going to get somewhere.

Leo smiles, with a lot of teeth.

"Do you know what I'm going to do first?"

Benvolio shakes his head. Dude certainly has an unexpected sense for the dramatic, but damn if it isn't working.

"I'm going to smoke a cigarette."

Benvolio blinks. "...What?"

"A cigarette!" Leo says impatiently, and Benvolio has never seen him this fidgety, he's basically vibrating where he's sitting, "I've never had one, I want to know what it's like! So instead of hoping someone someday will order me to smoke, I'll just decide to do it! Can you give me one?"

Benvolio can, although he's still feeling like someone is about to pop up from around the corner and laugh while pointing at him, haha, look at this idiot who really thought. What the fuck.

Leo smokes. Regrets follow suit.

"Everyone throws up the first time," Benvolio assures him.

"Alright," Leo says raspily, once he's stopped heaving and wiped his mouth, "and do you know what I want to do next?"

"No idea." It's nothing but the truth.

"I want to go and get drunk."

Of course Leo's been drinking before when he's with the gang, one or two shots over the course of an evening; never enough to get even tipsy. As it turns out, when he says 'drunk', he means 'very drunk, basically comatose', or maybe that's just because he doesn't know how to hold his liquor yet, and insists on trying to have one of every drink on offer. At some point during that endeavor he decides that another thing he wants to do is dance, and Benvolio learns that Leo cannot dance for shit but doesn't give a shit either. Anyway, Benvolio isn't going to stand in the way of a valuable life lesson revealing itself, but he's also not going to leave a friend to pass into an actual coma on a grimy bar floor. So, he eventually makes an executive decision that people who cannot keep their eyes open cannot have more drinks. Leo seems agreed with that, except on the way to the nearest hostel he suddenly turns from drowsy to a mess of flailing limbs once he remembers that he needs to get back to the palace, yes really, and apparently there's a curfew. Looking at his state, he is absolutely not climbing any fences, neither the one between them and the Montague mansion (where his suit is), nor the one surrounding the governmental district. After some arguing and some manhandling, Leo ends up at the hostel to drink water, eat as much as he can keep down, and get some sleep. Meanwhile Benvolio goes to get the suit and then wake him up again so he can pickle himself in coffee, and somehow they do make it to the district with twenty minutes to spare before roll call at five.

"I'll walk the rest of the way alone," Leo announces at some point, which is one way of saying 'thanks and see you', Benvolio supposes. He's not exactly surprised by the curt tone though. Maybe it's the awful suit or the combination of a hangover and lack of sleep, but Leo's been looking greyer and greyer the closer to the district they've come, and his expression has settled into decidedly stony since they've passed the fence. Now he turns and walks away without so much as a nod, back straight as a rod.

"Hey Leo," Benvolio calls after him, because he suddenly feels like he ought to remind him of the word, whatever it is about having it that seems so important to him. Leo gives no sign of having heard though, and maybe it's because he has already stopped being Leo for the day. The early morning air is cold.

xxx

(Benvolio once kicked an agent in the balls when the guy tried to arrest him. He could've just as well kicked him in the shin or punched him in the nose, but he was curious to see what a kick in the balls would do. This scientific experiment showed that a) agents have balls, or at least this one did, and b) the vest of that awful suit might or might not be bulletproof, but that's where the protective gear ends. Agents also feel pain, because that one went down like a sack of flour. But even as he fell to his knees, hissing and gasping, his face didn't twitch. Benvolio remembers that face, ashen and completely devoid of expression, better than he remembers the cheers he got from the gang for his heroic deed.)

xxx

After that overnight adventure, Leo doesn't show up for a while. There's never really been any sort of pattern to his visits, but lately Benvolio has gotten used to seeing him around almost every second day, at least every third. The fourth day with no Leo is not a good day, somehow everything and everyone is getting on Benvolio's nerves, and he takes to roaming the streets alone and kicking at pieces of trash. He ends up smoking way too many cigarettes, and having to drink a little too much cheap booze after so he can fall asleep. On the fifth day he just worries. What if Leo somehow died of delayed alcohol poisoning? What if he's not allowed to come back, ever? What if he decided that what he wanted next was to not hang out with them anymore? They're stupid worries, but Benvolio can't help it. Whatever, he has abandonment issues, it happens, especially if your parents literally abandoned you. What else is new. This is exactly why hanging out with people outside the gang is a such a bad idea, they tend to disappear on you after a while. But Leo is part of their gang, like Mercutio. He's got to come back at some point, he just has to.

(And then maybe Benvolio is going to find out what he's carrying around in that fugly coat of his. Because when he brought that back to the hostel, he noticed it was heavier than expected, and there was definitely something squarish, multiple somethings, somewhere in an inside pocket. It took a lot of effort to not check, but he almost wishes he had. Packs of cigarettes or meds would not have been as heavy, and any weapon he's ever seen an agent use was made of plastic. Is he carrying around multiple little strongboxes? No, it wasn't that heavy.)

On day number six Leo is back, and he's like a windup toy that someone wound up too tight, all jerky fast movement.

"I have something I wanna do," he tells Benvolio curtly, "wanna come?" Of course Benvolio does, judging by the last things Leo wanted it's definitely going to be entertaining to watch.

Leo's tight-lipped about what it is he's planning, but Benvolio assumes it's not the little walk they end up taking, and it's not simply hanging out at one of the dirtier bars outside Montague territory, although coming here after dark would have been bad enough of an idea to qualify for a Leo or Mercutio original (well, THEY could probably get away with it, but Benvolio sure wouldn't). They stay close to the door, and have bad acid-tasting coffee, because apparently Leo's booze-related wants are still quenched for the moment (Benvolio does not miss the opportunity for teasing, but only gets an irritated glare for his troubles. _Someone_ 's in a bad mood alright). Before long a fight breaks out next to them, as it usually does in places like this; and when Leo downs the rest of his coffee and gets up, Benvolio assumes it's the signal to leave. Instead, he can only watch in horror as Leo throws himself into the three-man fight with all the joy of a child jumping into a puddle.

The most unbelievable thing? For a little while there, it actually looks like he might win. Yeah, Benvolio thinks, frozen on the edge of his seat and ready to jump in any moment, he definitely trained for that shit. Dude may not know how to smoke or drink or dance, but he can fight alright. But even at that moment the element of surprise on Leo's side fades and he gets decked in the face, almost losing his balance. Benvolio elbows himself into the whole mess, two other guys show up, and, well— if anyone asks what happened to Benvolio's face he's going to swear up and down the two of them finished off five others, but really, they're lucky to have escaped without any broken bones. Benvolio has always been a fast runner.

"Was that what you wanted?" he asks once they've finally managed to stop Leo's nose bleed, "Getting your ass kicked in a fight?" The whole debacle only lasted about ten minutes, but twenty minutes later his hands are still shaking from the adrenaline high.

"Yes!" Leo is looking just as jittery, twitching under Benvolio's touch. "Wasn't it great?" He seems remarkably euphoric for someone with a future black eye and a giant bruise forming on his cheek bone. There's dried blood on his nose and shirt, and Benvolio must've been hit on the head pretty hard back there, because to him it's the best Leo has ever looked. He cannot _actually_ be glowing, so maybe that's a sign of concussion right there.

"No," Benvolio says, even though it actually _was_ pretty great, but someone has to be the voice of reason here, "and I'm starting to worry that what you actually want is to get yourself killed."

Leo snorts, but sobers up a little. "If I show up at the district like this, I probably won't come back even longer this time."

"Is it bad?" Benvolio asks, treading carefully. Past experience shows that whenever the topic of the district is on the table, Leo clams right up.

A shrug. "I'm used to it," Leo says, which isn't really an answer at all. "It's not as good as being here," he allows, "but I'll get to catch up on my reading."

"Reading? Like, books?"

"Yeah, it's what I did before I started coming here, for..." he frowns, "for fun, I guess, because I wanted to. Although if anyone asked I'd have said it's for education."

"Man," Benvolio says, "if reading books was your idea of fun, it has to be really boring over there."

"Extremely boring," Leo says emphatically, "like you have no idea."

"So whatcha reading about then?"

"Your Mom."

Alright, so apparently their little heart-to-heart is over for today. Geez, they've really socialized him a little too well.

xxx

As predicted, Leo doesn't show up for another ten days after that, but this time around Benvolio doesn't mind so much. He'll be back. In fact, thinking about Leo back at the palace, doing whatever boring stuff he does as his bruises are healing, thinking about what he wants, is very... well yeah, obviously Benvolio has some very graphic ideas about what he would want Leo to want, no fucking shit, but even apart from that, it's... satisfying, in the same way as defacing a Good News speaker pole or kicking an obnoxious government agent or climbing a fence is. Guess what, you fuckers, you can't have this one.

(But also Benvolio thinks a lot about Leo telling him exactly what it is he wants to do to him, in explicit detail, with that same sort of intense enthusiasm he's shown over any previous bad idea. What? He's bored.)

"Welcome back," he says when the exiled hero is finally home again, looking much more mellow than last time, "got any big plans for today?"

"Yep," Leo says, "I want to go get different clothes."

"What's wrong with these ones?" Benvolio for one is fond of the tight-fitting T-shirt they got him; it'd be a shame if he decided to ditch that.

"Nothing, I just want to pick some myself." And alright, yeah, Benvolio gets that, he's put some effort into looking like nobody else but himself. Here's hoping Leo won't pick anything boxy and beige.

They head to the unofficial marketplace, where people go if they have something they want to swap for something else. Neither of them has much in the way of money, but since the clothes Leo will be swapping in are admittedly on the plain side (still a lot of wear in them though!), Benvolio is pitching in a handful of cigarettes. Leo has two paperbacks he took out of his agent coat, which Benvolio is sure will fetch them millions.

(Technically, cigarettes are legal to have. So is booze. Even the coke and the opiates and the methamphetamine pills are legal, if you got the right prescriptions. Leo's never asked where the cigarettes come from, and since Benvolio carries them in a metal tin there's no telling whether the box they came in had all the necessary border control and tax stickers on it or not.)

They end up spending quite some time at the marketplace. Leo seems to have a clear idea of what he's looking for, and is tireless in bartering back and forth and swapping for other things to swap for yet another thing. At one point, he has swapped in his shirt for a pair of bracers that will soon transform into something else, and Benvolio has to mentally adjust any preconceived notion he had about Leo being a guy who doesn't like showing skin. Dude seems to have no problem at all walking around shirtless; the one who's all bothered and distracted by it is definitely not him. Cannot judge a guy by the ugly agent suit he showed up in, once again.

The final ensemble is this: long silvery shirt, sadly not tight at all; almost floor-length black coat that would look ridiculous on most people; high black boots that took most of Benvolio's cigarettes to get and that Benvolio assumed would be the most distinctive part of the equation, but no, because then there's: grey velvet leggings.

Velvet leggings.

Honestly, Benvolio would've been hard pressed to predict any of these choices, much less the fact that they all somehow work together; Leo looks a little like a pirate and a little like some black-and-white surveillance footage come to life and unlike anyone else at the gang. But. Velvet leggings. Apparently Leo is the kind of guy who will wear velvet leggings and make it look perfectly normal, even if he does maybe have some very slight bow legs. Benvolio is so distracted he very nearly walks into a speaker pole on the way back. Twice. Hot damn.

"So," he finally says when they're still two streets away from where the gang is hanging out today, because if he doesn't say anything he's going to actually die, for real, "you know how I keep insinuating we should fuck?"

"Yeah," Leo says, a little too fast, "what about it?"

"Well, what's your opinion on that idea?"

"I," and for a moment he looks like he's channeling his stony agent face, but it disappears almost immediately, and he just looks nervous. Another new one, after all this time.

"You can just say 'yes' or 'no', it's okay. Even if it's a 'no'. Like, that would suck, but I just want to know, and I won't be mad or anything—"

"Can I fucking say something?" Leo interrupts, a tad irritated. Benvolio shuts up and makes a 'go ahead' kind of gesture. "I really want to kiss you, right now."

"Yes?" And Benvolio has never moved as fast as he's weaseled right into optimum kissing distance just now, doing his very best to look as kissable as possible and generally communicate how incredibly pro-kissing he is.

"...But..." No! NO!!! Benvolio just said he wouldn't be mad, but COME ON. He sighs from the depths of his soul and plants his face into Leo's shoulder as his will to stand unsupported in these trying times evaporates.

"But?"

"I read books, you know," Leo says, which has nothing to do with anything, but he also hasn't done anything to keep Benvolio from using him as a face pillow, so whatever, Benvolio has time, "about civilians' lives. What they do. Only, these books weren't written about that, because nobody wants to read about normal people doing normal things, so I kinda have to read between the lines a lot, and there isn't always... I know about sex, okay? You wouldn't think that's something normal people would need detailed descriptions of, and yet!" He sounds kind of peevish about it, and Benvolio still has no idea where this is going but he's feeling entertained anyway, because what the fuck. "But you know what nobody seems to need a detailed description of, ever?"

Benvolio looks up. "You were trying to learn about kissing from reading books?" Because that makes total sense. Like using a book to learn how to dance, oh wait. That didn't work out too hot either.

"How else was I supposed to find out?" And he sounds so outraged there's no way Benvolio can keep from cracking up, what the fuck, why is he so weird?

"Have you ever considered... oh, I don't know, just kissing someone?"

"Yes," he says, pointedly looking right at Benvolio's face, and okay, that's the moment Benvolio's brain catches up with the fact that he could be kissing Leo right this second if he wasn't busy being a snickering jackass about the whole thing.

"How about _I_ kiss _you_ , right, and..." Benvolio is trying hard to remember his first kiss, but it was a pretty long time ago and he's never been shy about jumping into things and making a fool of himself, "...you just do what I do? Okay?"

"Alright." Thank fuck he didn't actually say 'Acceptable', and fuck Mercutio for putting that idea into Benvolio's head in the first place, dude has seriously turned cock-blocking into a form of art.

So, in the 826347th instance, Benvolio actually gets to kiss Leo, and at first it's just that. Then Leo is starting to get in on the action, and it's adorable, like a baby deer trying to walk on wobbly legs or something, and then, then he just _gets it_ , all at once, turning the kiss from ten to a hundred and twenty in three seconds flat, and when Benvolio decides to introduce the concept of tongues Leo immediately gets it too, and after that the only correction Benvolio has is to pick Leo's hands up from where they're coyly resting on his shoulders (what are they, twelve?) and plant them on his ass where they damn well belong. Leo doesn't even miss a beat, and maybe the appropriate simile here isn't so much a deer as it is a tank being driven off a cliff, because apparently all he needed was a little momentum.

Benvolio's momentum lasts all the way until he remembers VELVET LEGGINGS, which urgently remind him of that blow job with Leo's name on it he's been saving all these weeks, fuck yeah, dude won't know what hit him.

xxx

It's only quite some while later, once they've relocated to Benvolio's room with admirably little public indecency on the way, and the question of whether or not Leo is interested in acting on Benvolio's sex-related insinuations has been answered in favour of 'hell yes', that Benvolio remembers what originally prompted the idea of blow jobs, a million and three years ago.

"Hey man," he says, and takes a moment to be smug about the fact Leo still looks a little shell-shocked, in a good way, "so, about the microcams?"

Leo goes from dazed to razor sharp in the blink of an eye. "What microcams?"

"Dude, no need to top secret me, I know they're a thing. Do you think you can show me some footage?"

"What footage," Leo says it so flatly it doesn't even sound like a question. He also appears to have turned into a stone statue of himself.

"Of us, just now. I wanna see what I looked like."

Leo blinks. A lot. In fact, his entire face is twitching. "You want to see top-secret microcam footage you're not supposed to know about... so you can look at yourself naked?"

"Naked and getting some, yeah!" It's a reasonable request.

Leo doesn't seem to think so, because he bursts out laughing.

"What?" Nope, still laughing. "When do I ever get the chance to see myself at my best, through someone else's eyes?" Leo is wiping his eyes. "Oh come on!"

"I'm sorry," he finally says, with intermittent giggles, "can't help you there."

"Aw, please!"

Leo shakes his head. "The cams are switched off outside of missions. It's a privilege I get, and I check before I come here."

"If they're switched off, why do you never look people in the face then, huh?" Or at least not often. He's actually been looking at Benvolio a lot just now, that footage would have been A+.

Leo mumbles something about ingrained habits that are hard to break.

"Well," Benvolio says, "if you can't show me what I looked like, you're just gonna have to tell me."

"What?"

"Tell me what I looked like. With words. It's called 'dirty talk', although you're supposed to do it before or during, not after, but we're practicing here."

He fully expects Leo to flip him off, but he's actually pondering it, and Benvolio decides here and now that just for that, he's getting another blow job some time soon.

"Fucking fantastic," he eventually declares. "That dirty enough?"

"Acceptable," Benvolio says.

[END \o/]

**Author's Note:**

> Here's the original intro I cut because wrong POV, I feel it adds a little bit of background info on Leo's side of things so I'm including it as an addendum:  
>  _The Escalus family have provided the rulers of Verona for a couple generations now, so the cadre of government agents can work without interruption from one ruling period to the next to guarantee stability ("Verona: A Place for Everyone and Everyone in His Place"). Mercutio was pulled from the race early on, but he's pissed to see that the cousin who used to get in trouble with him for disobedience when they were both kids has been drilled into the perfect personality-free agent, bound to exercise the will of everyone but himself once he ascends to the throne. Fuck that, Mercutio (EM93862 ERROR INVALID HANDLE) thinks, and orders Agent EL60491 on a top secret reconnaissance mission, off the record, to the Montague hangout spot downtown-- under the condition that, if he were to witness any minor misdemeanor, he is not to report it. Not that he has any sort of authority to give that command, they both know he doesn't, but agents are supposed to follow commands, and "disloyalty" and "insubordination" are such ugly words when all this is about is an evening off to remember how to be a normal person. Agent EL60491 agrees to take on the mission, but notes that his handle is classified outside the palace. "Noted," Mercutio says, even though EL60491 hasn't been Leo or even Leonidas in so long Mercutio isn't sure he even thinks of himself as such.  
>  "Interaction with the marks is mandatory," Mercutio, who is bilingual in agent speak and street slang, tells him on the way there, "we gotta get you some threads later on, but for now just try not to fuck it up."  
> EL60491, who is going undercover under his own name on this one, nods the minimal nod all agents probably get taught in some secret course Mercutio never made._


End file.
